Eventide
by all you need is oxygen
Summary: Post GoW3, AU: Hope is the worst of evils. Sam, Baird.
1. Float up from dream

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything from the _Gears of War_ universe besides this plot.

**Main pairings: **Sam/Baird, one-sided Dom/Sam

**Rated 'M' for sexual situations and language. Heavy mentions of PTSD.**

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><p><strong><span>Prologue: Float up from dream<span>**

"Poets claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success. It is in ourselves that we should rather seek to find those fixed places, contemporaneous with different years."

"The unknown element in the lives of other people is like that of nature, with each fresh scientific discovery merely reduces but does not abolish."

—Marcel Proust, _In Search of Lost Time_

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><p><em>How in the bloody hell had she gotten there?<br>_

_She spiraled into a tunnel and walked through it. It looked like one of those after death experiences where the victim could see blackness and then a blinking light at the end. She couldn't tell if her legs were moving or if the tunnel itself moved her toward it, but she ended up in a pasture, her boots touching ground. Gray colored cobbles that looked like they were placed there in a sufficient order. Before her, a gust of wind carrying a flail of icy rain and, oddly enough,_ _she could smell the scent of smoke first, pungent and sweet. It pulled her along shivering, and it was plain to her that she would have to take this route._

_There was mostly nothing, there were only things that she could smell and see, like the large stalks, which were dried out and gray, creepy. There was a cliff at the edge of this dream like state. She walked tentatively over the edge and saw dark water. A large river flowing mechanically southward and a noise behind her made her nearly step forward. A hand reached over to grab her around the waist, pulling her back._

_She did what any reasonable person of her caliber would do, what training had taught her. Natural instinct. She elbowed the intruder and turned so that she could attack, but instead felt a wall of resistance. What she saw brought a choked gasp from her lips. There before her he stood tall; horribly disfigured, skin blotchy with scabs, with puss and sores, with heavy, horrible burns. He looked like a hotdog left on the burner too long, patches of flesh sticking out painfully from all the wounds. His hair was all gone, his lips were puckered, swollen, his nose… she couldn't see if he had a nose. His face was so dark, and the place was full of shadows. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot red and in between the singed skin were cracks of fresh meaty pink that bubbled and cracked, letting out a small trail of blood in its wake. There was nothing left of the person she had remembered, had come to admire—even love. The explosion had taken it all, his body baptized in the fire._

_Poor Dom._

_He spoke. The voice, masculine yet hopeful, was just as she remembered. "Miss me, Sam?"_

_She swallowed, stepped back, and he snaked out to grip her elbow, still keeping her from plummeting to the waters below. Again, she whimpered, feeling the charred skin against her own. It was rough, like sandpaper. And the smell… _

_He smiled. "I'm not sure if that's disgust or horror written all over your face. Have you gone soft already? You used to be the toughest girl I knew."_

_His tight skin cracked and some wounds reopened, more pus oozing, some blood trickling. _

_He let her go then, taking a step back and away from the shadows so that she could see him more clearly._

_There was a gaping hole where his chest should've been; his ribs peaking out of its meaty cage and his insides _dripping_._

_Her heart lurched in her chest and it was all she could do to just cry out. She had never wanted to see him like this. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, her lips trembled. Closing her eyes, she turned to look away. The warm tears slid down her cheeks and she tasted salt as one pooled and then slipped past the corner of her lip. She licked it without thinking, and it was in that moment she realized her lungs were burning. _

_How long had she been holding her breath?_

"_Dom, holy fuck… What… why did you do this?" She finally spit out, her voice breaking._

_"I gave up my __life so that you all could live." He replied. "It was worth the sacrifice."_

_She willed herself to open her eyes once more, but still, she kept her head turned. She could make him out from her peripheral view, however. Her heart continued to palpitate in an almost atrocious amount of pain and her face was contorted in horror. She wrapped her arms around herself like a child despite not feeling affected by the gusty winds anymore. _

_"Stop it. Am I really so hard on the eyes? I've never known you to be squeamish," He said, voice humorous. As if he weren't a scaled corpse that stood in front of her._

_She could make out the sickening sound of something wet hitting the ground and she didn't have to look to know that it was another meaty slab of himself. Which part specifically, she didn't know—didn't want to. _

_Instead, she felt the acidic bile rise up in her throat. Even tasted it as she swallowed it down and chocked as it went down the wrong way, hunching over until her eyes once again watered._

_Until she gagged._

_After a few moments of hacking, she stood up once more. Forced herself to meet his angry eyes—Christ, all of the blood vessels must've popped—and kept her gaze there._

_"Does it hurt?" She was glad that he didn't ask if she was okay._

_He shook his head, smiling. "No, Sam. Not anymore."_

_She looked around, studying her surroundings. Besides the gloomy stalks and the black sea of water behind her, they were the only two people stuck in the middle of an inky canvas—surrounded by a never-ending vast darkness. The icy rain hit her skin, making her caramel skin prickle. The question that came next made her own hairs stand on end. She was almost afraid to hear the answer, but still she pushed on, "Am I dead?"_

_Now he laughed. "Of course not."_

_"Then… where are we?"_

_ "The in-between, Sam."_

_"Fuckin' purgatory?" She asked in disbelief. _

_He nodded. Her stomach dropped. Still, despite his sacrifice there was no rest or peace, for that matter._

_She bit down on her lip, shaking her head slowly. Remorse. She could feel it flowing through the blood in her veins. He, out of all of them, didn't deserve this._

_"But why?" Her voice was barely a whisper. A change from its usually jolly, accented timbre. _

_For a moment, she thought she heard a howling in the wind._

_"I'm unsure." He shrugged, halfway turning. "I wished I was with my kids, my wife… but it's the price I paid. All I know is that I have something to show you."_

_Her body involuntarily shook._

_"I don't regret it, Sam. Truly. Not even for a second."_

_They stared at each other for a moment, letting the thought linger between them—once partners. _

_She wished he could see what his sacrifice had brought them; an end to the locusts and lambent. A new era for Sera. She never had the time to properly mourn him, none of them did—and now it was just coming back to her. At one point, despite his baggage and his constant disallowance of anything to truly form between them, she had loved him. _

_Still loved him._

_She cleared her throat, bracing herself. "Well then, what do you have to show me?"_

_Her voice was back to its aggressive and confident tone._

_"That's more like it." He smiled. "Follow me."_

_He turned his back to her, limping in a way that made her heart break all over again. It took everything for her not to keep her eyes focused on the hole in the back of his chest. _

_She followed slowly behind him._

_The wind had picked up, blowing her hair around; it played with the raven-black strands. _

_The initial smell of smoke that had wafted her nostrils earlier before appeared once more, much stronger now. He had stepped at the other edge of another cliff that made her gasp over the gory scenery._

_"Look." He demanded. She breathed next to him. The sky was just as dark, but there was a strong cloud of smoke. At this side of the cliff ran no water below but a peripheral view of countless amounts of bodies sprawled on top of each other. There must've been thousands, easy. _

_Burning. _

_Screaming. _

_With choked, deep sobs. _

_In a stomach churning sort of desperation and agony she had never heard before._

_She shivered, tried to look away but he held on tightly to her shoulders and propelled her to look forward. _

_"Stop it! Let me go!" She screamed, tried to struggle against him but he was stronger._

_"You see that?" He whispered from behind her, charred lips against her ears._

_And she realized two things:_

_He had never stood so close to him and she thought that underneath that smell of burning flesh, she could almost make out that masculine scent that used to follow him. The one that announced his arrival in whatever room they happened to share without her having to actually see him._

_The other was the feeling of his blood dripping down her neck. Eerily enough, the liquid felt like ice and, for the first time, she allowed her own strangled sob to escape her lips._

_Her shoulders sagging. _

_Up._

_Then down._

_Wracked with stupid fucking tears._

_How _weak_._

_"Shh. Just watch." He whispered, running his hands up and down her arms in a soothing manner. But they scratched at her skin instead._

_Through the spilling of tears and the crying, she did as she was told. There was no other choice. _

_And as if on cue, a pool of black appeared like a inky sludge and the bodies began to sink slowly, like quicksand. She covered her hand with her mouth, gasping. Her heart was beating so erratically she thought she was going to collapse. She was going to turn to ask him why, when she felt the palm of his hand on her back._

_"You ready?" He asked._

_But before she could question what he meant, he pushed her forward. _

_She had never screamed so desperately in her life._

* * *

><p>She sat upright up from her bed, gasping for air.<p>

Body trembling, she jumped out of the bed on shaky legs, nearly falling as she made her way to the bathroom. A moment later, she had her face buried in the porcelain while on her hands and knees, riding herself of the contents of her stomach. Still all that came out was pure acidic bile.

Dizzy for a moment, she swallowed and leaned her head on the cold seat; the tightness around her throat felt like twisting rope around her. She stared straight into the toilet, immobilized for what seemed a long time.

She could barely make out the sound of his muffled footsteps at first but somehow she knew he was behind her, studying. "Jesus Christ, Sam. What the hell?"

She just couldn't find anything to say.

She just lay there, limp; the ceiling lights above flashed brightly—dizzying her vision; her long toned arms were spread out, the sweat clung cold and hot on her skin. She croaked out a silent cry, and the tears, god, they fucking came down her cheeks.

It was Baird who reached up and touched them, with the back of his hand, slowly wiping them away, "Oh, _fuck me_. I knew this would be a fucking bad idea." The blonde muttered with a frown. He looked her straight in her eyes, searching, and then pulled her up. She didn't have to see the twitching of his jaw to know that he wanted to hightail it out of there. "What's wrong?"

Suddenly, she felt highly embarrassed. "Nothing. Just leave me alone."

She pushed him back with more force than she wanted. Caught off guard, he stumbled back briefly and his blue eyes burned, jaw set as he watched her walk out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. But she didn't dare look at him again. Instead, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she mentally badgered herself for showing such weakness and in front of _him_ of all people.

She threw herself back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

Sam's eyes tried to focus: she thought at first it was just the light of the moon that dappled the carpeted floor through the open balcony doors, that she could feel the gentle caress of sheets being shifted from the breeze, she reached with a shaky hand to feel them, crumpled, smelled the sweat and sex.

Baird walked out a moment later, grumbling under his breath as he searched for his clothes and she found herself unable to give a shit.

"You're such a nasty little bitch," He said with more bite than usual as he pulled on his cargos sans underwear.

Sam's muscle along her jaw ticked, clenching her teeth and wishing to end this as soon as humanly possible. She sat up in bed, just as naked as he was a moment before and stood in front of him. Rage should have replaced the slight shock now coursing through her body; yet, the pain of dreaming brought a fresh kind of torture, eating her alive.

He stood his ground despite her invading his space. The smug look that marred his features, though, was enough for her to spiral out of whatever comatose spell her brain had been under and she punched him square in the face.

This time it sent him tumbling backwards until he hit the wall, and he held onto his face groaning briefly in pain. All remained quiet for a moment even as he stood straight and wiped the blood from his nose with a kind of calamity that would've usually made her nervous, his eyes trained on her all the while.

"Don't you ever speak to me like that again," She hissed.

"I must say, Byrne, you still hit like a bitch," the smirk came right after looking down his nose at her; those alarming eyes were now focused primarily on her chest, and she remembered how earlier that night in their drunken celebratory haze he had bitten on the pert nipple sending her over the edge, before his gaze moved on to her narrowed waist and strong thighs, only to pause there—between her legs.

Sam was almost sickened by the lust that flared in those blue eyes; she recognized it, and that hit her square in the gut.

Made her core unbelievably moist.

"I hate wasting time, Sam, so let's put aside all these unnecessary insults that we would normally throw at each other."

It was quick. _Too_ quick, that Sam was left momentarily unprepared as he lunged towards her, effectively pinning her on the corner of the bed. As Baird's hand slid down, reaching below her waist, she stopped him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam bellowed in that accented voice, her horrified expression was enough to make her offender chuckle.

"What do you _think_ I'm doing?" The blonde grinned; it was smug; stretched out, revealing white straight teeth. Sam attempted to knee him in response, but Baird easily dodged and in the next moment pushed up against her, holding her hands above her head in an unbreakable grasp. Sam tried to break free, averting her eyes as much as possible, could feel his hot breath close to her cheek, and her body responded against her will.

Baird's body didn't feel any colder, but Sam was starting to feel the chill creep from the outside of her open balcony doors inside her room.

A heady breath, hissing gentle against a cool cheek, "If I don't fuck you for hitting me, I may have to kill you instead." Baird told the young woman; his voice soft, lowering to a whisper. And his eyes were staring into the other—seductive, convincing.

"Do your _worst_, asshole." Sam challenged, trying to seem as if she still was in control, but she knew better—didn't want to be. Baird was pushing her body backward, shoving her harder into the plush mattress, his growing length pressing against her through the fabric of his pants. Her chest was brushed against his—the cold sweat revealed toned muscles, over planes and curved skin.

Baird's pupils narrowed, changing shape and color as he looked down at her. "Trust me." The blonde tried again, a hand reached up to touch Sam's diamond-shaped jaw. "It's better this way, Byrne,"

And for the moment, the young woman felt a shiver of anticipation—not only because she wanted him to touch her—but because the heat coming from him felt fucking unbelievably good.

As his calloused hands glided between her crotch, Baird touched her with jealous caresses, lingering slightly.

In a matter of moments, Sam shivered, feeling the heat permeate her entire body; she was hardly aware of the lightness she felt; hardly aware of being fully plucked onto the bed.

Sam's senses were hardwired to feel everything in multiple degrees: the vague touches; the faint sucking kisses; the roughness of skin against her, of the intense rise of temperature; and, the unrelenting touch of heavy petting. She was slowly aware of how the blood rushed—the wetness between her legs and a hot hand cupping it, two fingers inside and pacing in and out at fast speeds.

She was moaning loudly, aching to push and pull, to feel the warmth of skin and opulent touch. Despite his initial aggression, Baird was darkly elegant; deadly and copious. He worked her body as if she were a machine that needed some fixing. There was no sense in fighting this—when it was all over—Sam raged in silent submission—that she'd take action. Use whatever it took to have him believe that he was holding all the cards.

When a hot mouth suckled against her neck, a ragged moan escaped Sam's lips; her head fell forward, her mouth parted to take in short quick breaths; and it was Baird who pulled her up with one powerful hand, bringing her head up enough so that his tongue snaked in. Sam's moan muffled against her suppressor; and her arms were lifted up to lay upon rock-hard shoulders—touching naked skin; her fingers were spread out, until they curled in, moved along the span of shoulders to push—pull, until they reached up, folding against the feather-soft texture of his blonde hair.

She kissed back; barely aware of who she was kissing and why. It didn't matter—what mattered was the feeling—the awareness of her sex: an instinctual drive that demanded to climax. By nature, all she wanted to do was to push her partner down, wrap her legs around his waist—but instead, found her legs being pulled up; her back against silky sheets. There were sounds in the background, breathy—the soft chuckle at her ear. "I didn't think this would be so easy."

By slow degrees, Sam's athletic body responded with violence; but Baird's supreme strength held her down. There was a persistent push violating between her legs. She heard his rough voice saying things that made her feel disgusted: about how firm her ass was; how she was going to get fucked so hard; and it was how she felt from those words—the heated flush—the color of shame spreading through Sam's body, because of who said those words.

A pitiful moan escaped as she felt him enter her: rough, slick with a wet heat; her fingers started to dig deep into the other; burrowing short nails into shoulder, so that it left trails of red marks.

She wasn't aware of anything else but pleasure, the continuous pounding: she tightened her womanhood voluntarily—heard the sound of a pathetic whimper; felt the hot breath along her jaw, kissing downward to her soft breasts.

Baird rolled his body sideways, a nasty chuckle against her ear, "That's right, Sam, enjoy it, I know you want this," and the invasion of roughened fingers squeezing her ass, diving inside with her body's hot lubricant made her twitch, and was barely aware that it soon thereafter, it was his tongue hot and persistent that licked and teased, "Like that? Yes you like that, Sam?"

"Please," She begged, "Don't stop. _Please_…" she pathetically moaned and it only made Baird delighted.

She hadn't, not for sometime, realized that her legs had been lifted, raised high enough so that they were wrapped around strong shoulders, followed by a violent thrust, and more thrusts. Baird's girth had been too much at first but the heat and her natural wetness helped her adjust, stretched her sex to fit the thick violation and soon a tempo started. A moan escaped her lips and they both chorused; their bodies jerked into each other, moving in an aggressive heat, bunching up tense muscles. Sam was barely finding her way back, her breath coming in quick, easy short successions.

It seemed an eternity, the way the pain just came in with the flow of something she was familiar with: pleasure. It was a pained expression that marred Sam's pouty features, and her own body reacted to such violation, the intrusion, the violence.

Baird's hand rubbed at her clitoris, where the pain was unbearable and the steady slow pumping somehow relieved her torture; it was slickened with something hot, and she could feel the pace increase as the blonde began his push and pull. Sam released a shaken cry as the sensation blossomed, allowing her muscles to contract involuntarily, cumming in a senseless joy around his cock.

"Fuck, I'm going to come inside you, Sam." She heard his roughened voice. She was barely aware that she was riding out the storm, feeling wave after wave consume her; all coherent thought was gone.

She cried out, tears leaking out, "Oh, god. Oh, _fuck_." She curled her hands into fists, felt her limp body bunch up like a ball. Afterward, there was only bliss; an uninterrupted state of perpetual orgasm and then, nothing more.

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><p><strong>Note:<strong>

And that's all she wrote folks!

I've been meaning to write a _GoW_ fic focused on Baird and Sam for a while now, though I took my time. This is, in a lot of ways, a lot darker than I see most Gears stories between the two being—but it was just what I was aiming for.

I definitely wanted to add more of Dom into the twist, considering that her feelings for him are usually never touched upon, so that's that.

I actually really enjoyed writing this. Probably a little too much. And I knew I just sort of threw you in there, but a lot will be explained especially concerning how Baird and Sam jumped into bed with each other in the first place. This is set right after GoW3. There is no love, no crushing on each other, I suppose, at this time—just a strong attraction, but things will eventually blossom (it'll be one hell of a ride though).

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed and drop a review if you did. :]


	2. Memory fragments

**Chapter One: Memory fragments  
><strong>

"_Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go._"_  
><em>—Hermann Hesse

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><p>It was early morning when he finally decided to make his leave, the sun just beginning to come over the horizon. Baird shrugged into his pants, still shirtless, revealing his toned body—his battle scars, though slight, didn't mar the masculine lean strength of his physique. Quietly, he reached for his shirt that was over the banister of the bed and slipped that on, too, before grabbing his boots and making his way to the door.<p>

Hand on the knob, he gave one last look at her; she was lying on her side, dark hair falling into her face, chapped lips pursed, snoring lightly. She seemed peaceful for once—relaxed.

They had come down from their clandestine little affair. Both parties acquiescing to their personal desires, however, deep inside he felt that something was amiss. He couldn't bring himself to sleep as exhausted as he had become. Still, that was textbook Baird. His mind was always occupied, focusing on things that other's didn't; little details here, a subtle piece of information there, that, oddly enough, usually ended up saving his or someone else's asses. He wasn't paranoid though, even after having to fight in a war for the last fifteen years that managed to take everything away from them all, arrogant _yes_—but definitely not paranoid.

There was something wrong with Sam whether she was willing to admit it or not. At first he figured that possibly she had been puking up some of Dizzy's homemade moonshine, but after seeing the look in her tear-filled copper eyes, looking all kinds of _fucking pathetic,_ he knew that it was much deeper than that.

He had never been her biggest fan; she was loud, obnoxious, hard-headed, and always had something to prove. It didn't help that she was a mouthy bitch too and if Baird hated anything more than the goddamn locust and lambent _combined_, it would be mouthy bitches—which was more than half of the female Gears in Sera. However as much mistakes as she had made due to her wanting to be "one of the guys" she was a more than capable fighter and a loyalist at that. Sure, she had a frequent obsession with chain-sawing the shit out of her enemies and becoming splattered in locust guts—the blood speckles and that bloodthirsty grin did something to his _loins_ that left him almost ashamed—but more oft than not, she was busy pushing others out of the way and putting her ass on that line so that a person could still have theirs.

He didn't have to like her, but he no doubt respected her.

For a moment, he thought back on the night before: taking her so roughly and how much she liked it. Baird hadn't had the time to indulge himself as much as he would've preferred—none of them did, the last thing a person wanted was to worry about a locust attack with their pants down their ankles and their dick wet—and he almost felt bad from the things he did to her, the words that came out of his mouth as a result.

However, she had come back with a few surprises of her own.

She had kissed him before finishing up their love-making.

If one would call a rough and dysfunctional relationship—both playing cat and mouse with each other—love.

Sometimes, Sam would plant a kiss on his lips with a hidden tenderness he was surprised at. It startled him, but nevertheless, it was probably due to the fact that she liked to use every manipulative means to get his guard down, _even in bed_.

He could never know what she felt, only know that she enjoyed it. They both enjoyed their little games.

In the dim light of the room, his blue eyes were predatory, as if he almost wanted to take her again, and he breathed heavily just from thinking about what they had done.

He turned the knob and opened the door, closing it quietly behind him.

* * *

><p>The first week on Azura was hell. Despite the initial drunken tumbling mess that most of them were on the night that marked the end of the war the halls had been filled to the brim the very next day. Everything was completely chaotic and it didn't help matters that people were milling about like chickens without heads. Fenix did a hell of a job though, as expected, taking up the unofficial spot as leader in this new world as nobody else wanted the responsibility and launched out a stream of orders with the idea of getting Azura back on its hinges. The others seemed relieved to see him take up the mantel once more and he understood why. After years of doing nothing more than following orders and killing those shit-eating monsters, it would be a hard routine to break straight away. Old habits truly did die hard, it seemed. He was unsure of what they were to do afterward, wondered if anyone would be willing to leave. Even with most of its shit turned up its ass, Azura was still a haven compared to the living arrangements there were used to. Plus, there was no Jacinto, no more Coalition of Ordered Governments to tell them what the hell do to. It seemed like, once again, Delta was going to once more pave the way for a new and better future.<p>

Baird, of course, had the hardest job of all: get systems up and running again. He occupied his time by running diagnostics on every panel that wasn't completely ruined to all shit and dissecting the ones that were; exercising; getting his dick and balls squeezed by Dr. Shannon in a mandatory check-up; staying up well into the night going over old blueprints; eating a few times a day if he was lucky; figuring out how to make things work without imulsion; and cleaning his gear. It was no walk in the park, all of this tinkering he had been doing, but of course he preferred it that way. The mechanics of this place were, admittedly and understandable, one of the most complex he had seen in quite a long time and it was taking him a lot longer to figure things out.

Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, he took a seat back in his chair and let out a disgruntled sigh.

Christ, his fucking head _hurt_.

Leaning over his desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose to ease the build-up of pain growing there. He had been going at it for about twelve hours straight and as much as he analyzed the blueprints before him nothing seemed to come to mind at the moment. His brain was on overdrive, thoughts and equations mixing together and only serving to give him a headache. He supposed that it could also be attributed to his lack of sleep and food consumption as well.

Deciding that in this state there would be nothing he could possibly do or figure out, he stood up and forcibly made his way back to the overcrowded mess and had a helping of what constituted as a healthy meal. Naturally, it had no taste—he was pissed that even the meals on this glorified island had shit food just like they did. Eyes searching, he eventually found a table to the far right that was unoccupied and quickly took a seat. Maybe he would truly manage to at least eat in peace, he thought to himself in relief.

He spoke too soon.

A moment later a tray full of food smacked against the spot in the table beside him and he knew who it was without having to look.

The only thing that bothered Baird about Cole was his ability to find him while he was eating. This was the third time since they'd been on Azura that he'd zeroed in on him with his mouth full. He didn't like crowds; he didn't like lights; and he sure as hell didn't like anyone talking to him while he was stuffing his face. He couldn't stand the thought of anyone watching him chew. But Cole didn't know that. And he was one of the few people who Baird couldn't bring himself to tell to go to hell—and it wasn't because his mouth was full of shit food either. As it was, Cole was the only one who got the special treatment from him regardless and as such was the only one who had truly understood him.

Still as ecstatic as they all were, Baird hadn't felt up to talking with anyone. He contributed his mood to be based on his frustration of not having fixed shit besides the hot water and when his mind was on overload, he couldn't quite place his thoughts together to form much coherently without trying.

And right now he was tired of trying to do shit—even if it was hold a civil conversation with his best friend.

Not that it mattered because Gus was grinning at him and glowing as if he had just come back from a week long orgy.

_Fuck_.

He really didn't want to do this right now.

"Damon baby!" The Cole Train's voice boomed, drawing the attention of some of the others. "How're things coming through?"

Baird swallowed and shrugged before answering. "That's the problem." He began, stabbing at his rubbery meat as if it were the reason for his mind block. "Shit isn't coming through _at all_."

"Well, maybe you ain't looking at it the right way, baby," Cole responded, eyes transfixed on the way the blonde probed at his food.

"_Obviously_," Baird shot back cantankerously.

Gus appraised him with a raised brow causing Damon to sigh before burying his face in the palm of his hands, "Sorry," he apologized. "I've just been having more of a fucked day than usual. There's no imulsion and saint fucking Marcus along with his bossy broad are expecting me to pull a miracle outta my ass. Its driving me up the wall."

They both knew what was really causing him to be hostile. Baird had thought many a brilliant solution to various situations at an astounding rate and the man practically lived off of challenges just so he could hear the praise. This, obviously, had not been the case with Azura. Cole had been stuck running his own routines, going along on early morning patrols and staking the island, and even though he hadn't gotten to spend as much time checking up on Baird as he would've liked he could understand his frustration. That said, he wasn't the only one who was dealing with shit—and Cole was sure that as selfish as his friend could be, he had known that as well.

They were done fighting, but now they had to resume building.

And that was going to take a shitload of work.

To jump from one extreme to the other when all they wanted to do was_ rest_.

"Perfectly understandable, but at least the worst is over," Gus said in between bites, grinning once more. Baird stared at him sideways with a small smirk of his own tugging at the corner of his lips. "We have time to build, sleep, drink, make babies or just screw around for the hell of it and we get to do it together, baby. Things are already better!"

"Yeah, somehow I doubt I would ever like to screw around with you, Cole. No offense." Baird quipped, smirk now turning into a full blown smile. He turned to look at the crowd of Gears happily eating and chatting just as a familiar face walked into the mess—she looked like shit. He looked back to his friend and the garbage on his tray they called food. "This is disgusting." He proclaimed after a moment, dropping his spork.

"What's _not_ disgusting, baby?"

"Bacon."

They both laughed, but Cole's boomed just like his voice and Baird's died out in a manner of seconds. A weak attempt at humor they both knew, but still the memory of Carmine nearly exploding in his pants at the thought and the look Sam gave him after he offered her in exchange was priceless.

_She ended up tasting better, though_. Baird mentally added to himself with a light snicker. So it all worked out after all. His blue eyes searched for her once more only to find her sitting with Jace throwing her head back and laughing. It was amazing how such a simple gesture left her not looking worse for wear when it was clear to him that whatever it was that was bothering her was still lingering beneath the surface. Not that he really gave too much of a shit. It was her business.

"Don't worry, Damon-baby," Gus' voice cut his thoughts once more and Baird almost choked on his saliva. He inwardly prayed that the man hadn't noticed where his line of sight was moments before. "You'll get this bitch up and running again. I have faith in you. We all do."

Baird nearly sighed in relief, but simply offered his best friend an acknowledging nod. He picked up his spork again, getting started on forcibly chewing down the rest of his meal.

* * *

><p>On Emergence Day, just as Sera was beginning to tilt on its axis into a world full of shit, an eighteen year old Baird held his mother's delicate form in his arms.<p>

He was consumed by the growing pool of blood spreading across the marble floor.

She had been shot, the bullet going through her intestines.

A slow undoubtedly painful death.

Just outside his door, thousands of people were screaming in terror. She wouldn't let him drag her to the hospital—had willingly relinquished her own life so that he didn't die trying to save hers.

Elinor Baird hadn't been the most affectionate mother but at least she had done _that much_.

He brushed the blonde hair away from her face, leaving a streak of crimson with his stained hands. She looked at him with terrified blue eyes that he imagined mirrored his own.

Now it was his turn to do something for her.

And he couldn't bring himself to say one comforting word.

Not even as he pressed his hands over her face.

_—smothering _ _her_—

Or when she desperately clawed at his arms in rising panic.

Even as her lids began to flutter.

And especially after the struggle was finally over, her hands falling limp at her sides.

* * *

><p>On the cold hardwood floor of his room Baird laid on his back, thinking.<p>

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get comfortable on the plush bed. He figured after spending the better half of his life in the lap of luxury he would've jumped at the chance to lay on something so soft. On the contrary. He had become so used to resting on cold, lumpy cots that it almost seemed more comforting to him now.

_Fucking old habits. _

He ran a hand through his blonde hair.

For a moment, he wondered how their society was going to re-build itself when all that was left were scattered stranded and a few battled hardened vets. What kind of start could they possibly hope to make? It was one thing to shoot and kill shit, but to rebuild a whole new world from practically the ground up?

His mind turned back to Prescott and the secrets that he was going to have to undoubtedly uncover. All of the best scholars, scientist and doctors were swept away here only to be brutally murdered nonetheless.

That must've been a shocker to see the big bad locusts find their way through the pseudo Maelstrom. _What a fucked up way to go thinking you're safe under a false security blanket. _They should've known better. No matter what device someone managed to create, the locusts survived like little roaches hiding beneath the cracks.

Until now and still Baird was a little on edge. A straight week of having to fire not one bullet. It was _weird_. Sometimes he swore his fingers itched to just pull the trigger.

Despite his frustration with the whole place, he couldn't lie: Azura was a gift from whatever god was up there. A beacon of hope, if you will. The only remaining fragment of civilization in a world where basic resources were almost rare to come by.

But still—

_Fuck you too, Prescott, wherever the fuck you are for harboring a fucking secret island and leaving us to die. Karma's a bitch, ain't it?_

* * *

><p>He knew it was a cruel thing to do but after he was sure that she was no longer breathing, he hid. Through eyes weathering—and trying with all his strength to keep them from falling—hot, blurry tears, he ran faster than he ever did before. He could hear the thumping footsteps of those monsters that had been outside mere moments before and their deep barbaric tongue as they communicated with each other behind him. He closed his eyes and the tears fell over the curve of his cheek, his whole body trembling as he stood as quiet as possible. When he finally opened them once more, they were gone.<p>

* * *

><p>His mother's body was nowhere to be found.<p>

Her blood trail—no doubt—would lead him to her and his own demise as well if he went against everything his instincts were screaming at him.

Through clenching fists and gritted teeth, it took everything in him to not follow.

* * *

><p>He always prided himself on being quick on the uptake. And on the very first day of what was going to be a very long and hard war, he learned that when the locusts came to collect they left no prisoners.<p>

* * *

><p>"Maybe if you wore some tall heels you might be a little more useful around here, Lieutenant."<p>

Anya bristled and narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly in the general direction of the bane of her existence as he sorted through various books and files. "Perhaps, _Baird_," she said icily, "if you bothered separating the files in a more organized manner" —her voice was steadily rising in intensity as the temperature in the room dropped degree by degree and Baird turned his back to the overflowing cabinet that had been the focus of his attention a few seconds earlier to stare at her in something akin to mild amusement— "in the first place we wouldn't even be _here_..." She paused to breathe and watched as a small mountain of files began their descent from the top of the cabinet and he tried—unsuccessfully and with considerably less grace than usual—to catch them. She smirked.

Baird dropped the few papers he had actually caught and watched the rest flutter to the ground at her feet. "Well, Your Royal Frostiness," he said, dusting his hands off on his cargos, "since you're so much closer to the ground, why don't you pick those up for me?"

Anya glared at him, silently fuming.

He smiled at her, knowing that he had gotten to her as usual.

Earlier that morning after he reported to Fenix, it was decided to that they were to partner up—as if that were_ ever_ a good idea—to ransack the island's hidden library (something, admittedly, Baird had done on his own earlier that week which was why things were even more unorganized than what was expected, but in his defense, he was highly frustrated than usual at the time). The blonde male had been the first to object, but Marcus was having none of it. Baird still hadn't reported back anything substantial and leader of delta felt he was given enough time to figure it out alone. Obviously, it wasn't working.

But to choose _Anya _of all people…

In retrospect, when he wasn't busting her balls and she wasn't eying him with the glare of death, she would be the logical choice to have helping him out. She wasn't a mech geek like himself, but she was incredibly perceptive in other ways that would no doubt come in handy and had saved them many times before.

Still as much of a pain in the ass she could be, she was one of his favorite victims. As smart as she was she always took the bait and her reactions were nothing short of gold.

Baird turned his back on her and he could feel her eyes staring holes into him. He had summarily dismissed her from his thoughts as he went back to the filing cabinet, no doubt expecting her to pick up all the files he had dropped as any good little partner would.

"I am not picking up those files, Baird," she informed him quietly.

He was flipping through a file that had caught his attention. "Fine, don't," he told her with a shrug, not taking his eyes from the papers in his hands. "But disorganization doesn't bother me nearly as much as it utterly incenses you, my dear anal-retentive skeptic."

She opened her mouth with a ready retort, then snapped it shut. He was completely right. He knew that it was only a matter of time before she would be compelled to pick up the papers littering the floor. She hated it when he was right. Mostly everyone did.

"Given the ass you usually make yourself out to be, Baird, I would have to say you're just a bit more anal than I am."

"It has been twenty-nine days since our last spat, Anya. You're a day overdue."

It took her a moment to realize what he was saying. She gasped in barely-contained outrage and it took everything in him not to laugh. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged once again, still seemingly engrossed in the file. "If you would like to go your room, take a nice bubble bath, put a heating pad on your back, and pop some pills, don't let me stop you, Lieutenant."

That was it. "It's so nice to know that a medical degree, and frontline Gear status in what used to be the Coalition of Ordered Governments gains me such respect in your eyes," she muttered.

His head shot up at that and a glimmer of genuine surprise was nestled in the dark recesses of his eyes. "I've always respected you, Anya," he said. "However, others who don't know how pleasantly enigmatic you are on normal days are usually a little, well, _put-off_," he continued, acting seemingly oblivious to her reaction. "That's why I try to avoid you even more than usual around this time of the month."

She didn't know how to respond to that. Hurling one of the thick books at his head was not a viable option. Not that she would not enjoy the satisfyingly hollow clunk it would make on his melon of a head. But, as a medical doctor, it would be up to her to staunch the flow of blood and her freshly-laundered white tee was not up for yet another bloodbath.

And then, of course, she would have to write a report on the incident.

"You are quite possibly the single most insensitive man on the entire _fucking_ planet," she told him honestly.

He snickered.

_You wouldn't be the first to say that, hun. Try again._

From the corner of his eye, he watched as she heaved a sigh and turned her own back to him.

Baird beamed in silent victory.

* * *

><p>Anya had wordlessly left that night.<p>

Just up and walked off.

It didn't matter, he decided. In the end he expected it to play out as such.

He was used to doing things alone. Figuring it all out on his own.

Truthfully, he was surprised she had stuck around as long as she did.

He had hoped to drive her away sooner.

* * *

><p>It was funny how things worked out.<p>

In the end, both of his parents had gotten what they wanted. He ran to safety like a wounded dog with its tail between his legs and he was enlisted that very same day. He wondered if they were finally proud of him now... wherever their souls fled.

* * *

><p>That night, curled up in his cot, was the last time he cried—for his mother. Even his father. And for a future that was taken from them all without warning or a chance of <em>ever<em> reclaiming it.

* * *

><p><strong>Note:<strong>

As it is, this story isn't based too much on action but rather the characters themselves. I wanted to delve into this chapter with Baird differently—mixing his frustration and his thoughts of his own past together (sort of like a theme of this chapter, actually).

Also, kept Sam out of this chapter for a reason. Though this story does revolve around them, every chapter will not.

Big shout out to Charlie Chaplin 2 for giving me the _extra_ inspiration I needed to finish this chapter! And a big thank you to JadziaCee, Leinelle, B and B are Back, and Vilamil for reviewing and/or anyone else who added it to their favorites as well.


	3. Drops of shame

_I will sneak myself into your pocket  
>Invisible, do what you want, do what you want<br>I will sink and I will disappear  
>I will slip into the groove and cut me up and cut me up<em>

_There's an empty space inside my heart_  
><em>Where the wings take root<em>  
><em>So now I'll set you free<em>  
><em>I'll set you free<em>

_Slowly we unfold  
>This lotus flower<br>Cause all I want is the moon upon a stick  
>Just to see what if<br>Just to see what it is  
>I can't kick the habit<br>_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Two: Drops of Shame<span>  
><strong>

* * *

><p>It was like clockwork.<p>

For the past three weeks she had woken up in the middle of the night because of her grueling dreams and tonight was no different.

She sat up in bed, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Her chest heaved up and down in deep practiced breaths, a technique that she had fast learned to keep from panicking when the war first started. It hurt to exhale and her intakes of air were ragged as a result—loud and almost harsh on her own ears.

Wiping her soaked strands out of her face, she looked down at her hands to see that they were indeed trembling. She clenched them into fists.

In her sleep she managed to kick off the covers and half of it tumbled on the floor, catching her eyes. It almost resembled a dark creature, born out of her terror and her heart almost lurched out of her chest.

Momentarily, she closed her eyes and told herself that she was just being ridiculous.

She stood up, peeling off her saturated sheets. The midnight air wafted in lightly from the window that was cracked open, further cooling her damp and naked skin. Her nipples hardened in response and she could feel it tighten around the silver piercings, sending a slight ripple of pleasure down her spine.

Looking around the darkness of the room, she was glad to find that she was alone.

Completely and utterly alone.

_Another one bites the dust._

* * *

><p>She dreamt of her first kill.<p>

Sixteen years old.

She was a lot less boisterous in attitude then and so skinny—unhealthy for her age as there was the shortage of food in Anvegad during the last year of the Pendulum Wars. Her cheekbones were gaunt, her eyes slightly sunken in, long lashes gathering dusts from the winds and her body—made up of long limbs—seemed almost anorexic.

The only thing that had looked full was her darling hair, silky black and thick just as it was long. She had worn it proudly, as if it were a trophy. Some people joked that it looked so heavy that she would soon topple over and sometimes she had felt as if she truly were dragging it behind her, but it was worth it at the time—her only remnant left of something beautiful.

To be fair, Sheraya had done all that she could for her daughter when it came to bringing in more food and so had the COG but after fighting a war that lasted seventy-nine years, resources were naturally low. And before they could truly get anywhere, the Locusts Horde broke free of their subterranean, shattering any illusion of peace.

Sam didn't remember too much but she could still recall the blazing heat that came from the Anvegad sun, the weight of her thin clothing on her shoulders, the absolute intensity of her fear. They stood deathly still in their classroom; the deafening silence was almost all-consuming. They listened for the thumping footsteps as it got closer and it was all they could do not to scream when the door slid open revealing a tall, reptilian figure wielding a gun. Without a word it lifted the weapon and aimed, releasing a hail of bullets.

She could never erase the terrified screams or the sight of seeing so many people, most of them her friends, _dying_.

A bullet whizzed by nicking her in the neck and she couldn't even feel the pain as she was overcome with something else—the will to survive. She lunged out of her second-story classroom window, tumbling on the ground, a shard of glass etched into her foot and she pulled it out before she continued onward into the fields refusing to look back. Enemies burst out of the ground, mindlessly killing anyone in their wake as she bolted passed.

Tunnel vision.

No pain, no bloody gain.

Nothing else existed for her but the thought of getting home to her mother and soon enough, she was back at the little farm they called their home. Sam made sure to be quiet and listen, just in case anyone lurked about. It was hard to hear throughout all of the chaos and she picked up the curved Kashkuri machete they kept for when they butchered animals for meat. She dragged it with both hands on the floor, trying her best to keep from making too much noise and trembling as she did so.

Pushing open the door, she found that it was unlocked with its hinges broken and she covered her mouth, swallowing her whimper. Slowly stepping in, her home was ransacked, but, thankfully after looking around, no blood or signs of her mother's body just yet.

She continued up towards the stairs cautiously and when she came upon the hall, she froze at the sound of what sounded like her mother crying. Treading lightly she followed the noise; she saw that her mother was in a corner kicking her feet under her in an attempt to move back, looking up at one of the hulking beasts. She didn't have to see its face to know that from the way its broad shoulders moved up and down it was laughing, the deep barbaric chuckling that passed its lips was enough to tell her that much.

It enjoyed seeing her mother lost in fear, crying in mercy.

And it made her seethe in an uncontrollable rage.

There was not the least bit of hesitation as she lifted the machete with what seemed to be a sudden superhuman strength.

The monster turned around at the sound of her approaching but it was too late.

Sam swung with all of her might.

The creature cried out in agony as the machete wedged deeply into the thick gray reptilian skin and through the bone. It hung on its leftover muscles, a sickening image.

Still, she kept on. Removed the weapon in her hand and went for another hard slice before the drone managed to cut her in half with its massive claws. She lifted the machete and swung in a downward arc, the base of the curved steel just breaking the surface of the resilient skin of its neck but she lifted it and once more brought the heavy weapon down with more force, an action she repeated until its neck was split in half like a ripe melon.

She was so enraptured with the thought of killing it that hadn't noticed the squirting of deep orange blood staining her face and clothes or the monster's partner as it zeroed in behind her.

"Watch out!" Her mother cried in warning.

But it was too late.

It grabbed her by her long hair, tugging and breaking—and for a moment she thought that it was going to rip her scalp straight off her head. Fat tears of pain gathered in her eyes and she prayed to whatever being that was high above to help her, to save her.

Instead, her mother had been the one to answer her prayers.

She heard the sounds of gunfire and a moment later, there was a loosening grip on her hair. The monster tumbled to the floor with a hard thud.

Mother and daughter stared at each other in shock.

It was then that the pain of over exertion filled her malnourished body and Sheraya dropped the lancer, instead reaching over for her daughter before she hit the ground. The older woman held on tightly to her, brushing her dark hair in a soothing manner as she rocked her back and forth.

Sam didn't say anything for a long while.

She cut her hair the next day.

* * *

><p>No matter how hard she tried she couldn't go back to sleep. Her lids were heavy, but still she couldn't manage to simply relax despite how long she kept them closed. She felt an uneasiness fill her.<p>

She didn't want to dream anymore.

Sam finally gave up, swinging her legs over the edge of the plush bed. Her COG tag chain jangled quietly as the muffled metal bounced in between the valley of her naked breasts. She stretched, then slowly got out of bed.

She slouched her way to the bathroom as though each individual movement had to be dragged tooth and nail from her form, and proceeded to perform her morning ablutions. After a quick trip to the toilet and a brushing of teeth she stopped, looking at her own visage in the mirror.

Her cooper eyes stared back at her, the green flecks especially noticeable at the moment. Still, it did nothing to mask the dark circles surrounding them due to her lack of a fitful rest. There was a slight change in her face as well—her cheekbones seemed a little more pronounced which was an indication that she must've lost a little bit of weight.

Her body, however, remained much the same: made up of hard, toned muscle that did nothing to mar the natural beauty of her feminine curves even with all of her scars and tattoos. Her breasts were round and full without being too large—her body was mature, a drastic change to her almost anorexic teenage self. Absently tracing the cut muscles of her abdomen, she continued to eye herself with mild curiosity.

She turned to her side, revealing the work of her recent stint concerning body art. It was meant as a depiction of freedom; the tattoo started on her right hip, ran up her side, and curled between her shoulder blades. Sparrows, crows, ravens, robins, cardinals, and doves all singing in a chorus of breathtaking art. And there, under the nape of her neck, was the figure of a phoenix drenched in purple fire. A very nice addition to the tribal signs that decorated her upper arms thanks to a fellow Kashkuri gear that she had become chummy with while doing her rounds. It had taken some time, but seeing as now everyone had that in abundance, it wasn't a big deal. When she wasn't doing her patrols or working out, she was usually loitering around the bar anyway, looking for her next piece of meat for the night.

Though lately, she had been trading some nights of sex for late night workouts to rid herself of the stress that she was currently feeling. This was, she felt, one of those times. Sam put on a nice set of jogging clothes, tied up her short locks before wrapping her bandana across her brow and stepped out into the still rather chilly early morning.

A disciplined and principled individual, as well as a creature of habit, Sam had done this, without fail, rain or shine, everyday for the last month since the nightmares plagued her.

It relaxed her. Instead of focusing her mind on other things to get her thoughts off the physical exertion, she focused her mind on the new world around her, and the world within her, the color of the sky, the feel of the sand under her shoes, the few gears out and about this morning, doing their patrols or for whatever other reasons, her breath fogging slightly in the chill morning, an easy rhythm.

Sam existed, she moved, she lived, she was a part of the new peaceful world around her.

Running for her was akin to peace. A vacation from having to scrutinize the world around her, an opportunity to just be a part of it. It was nice to do so again, to live a somewhat normal life.

Those dreams though…

Sam shook her head, rounding the first corner outside the hotel.

She was finding it difficult to focus outward today, so she gave up in favor of introspection. Sam was not, by nature, an introspective woman, but she wasn't afraid of herself either. It could just generally be said that things didn't usually _bother_ her. These nightmares did, and it was so out of character for it to actually upset her that she found they required a certain amount of reflection.

Dreams. What did they mean, exactly? Part of her training had included psychology courses... criminal psychology, of course, but all psychology recognized the importance of dreams on the human psyche. She strained to get a look at the bigger picture.

The darkness… a severely burned Dom stuck in-between. All of the people pleading for help as they blazed in a fire, their bodies sinking into some black goo-like substance.

Becoming… _something_.

She rounded the second corner, this one up hill. She took the five degree slope at an easy, loping pace, never breaking stride.

Then he pushed her over the ledge with them. Why had he done _that_?

She rounded the third corner, this one bordering on the forest. Some days she widened her route to cut through there, but she decided on a short run today, realizing that she'd get no enjoyment from the scenery in her current mood.

She understood why she would dream with Dom. Just thinking of him pulled at her heartstrings. She missed him so much—all of them did—and she understood why he took the actions he did but still how she wished it didn't have to come to risking his_ life_.

And in that dream, _so_ vivid, _so_ real, as if she was really talking to him…

Why did he have to appear to her looking like that?

Sam forced herself to take in a deep breath, calming herself down as she rid the image of him from her mind.

Regardless, she had to let him go—not exactly in memory, but the deep emotional entanglements she had built with him. He had never returned her feelings anyway. Not even after she had given her temple to him, full of naiveté. She had hoped that he would eventually grow to love her as much as she did him.

The plan was flawed from the beginning and despite how her instincts screamed at her to not go through with it, she still did.

Love makes you do crazy things or so they say.

* * *

><p><em>Oh god. Oh Maria…<em>

* * *

><p>Eventually, she arrived back at the center of the island where the hotel stood. The sun was beginning to rise and her once cool skin drenched in sweat began to feel warmer from the slight rise in temperature. She stretched out her legs to keep them from cramping later on, the jogging shorts not hiding the sight of her long muscled legs flexing as a result.<p>

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she jogged up the steps taking two at a time. She had been so focused on her footwork that she hadn't realized there was somebody at the foot of the steps.

Unprepared, she connected into the mystery man _hard._

And she would've ended up tumbling down the steep stone steps only to break her neck had those strong arms not reached out for her, pulling her to safety.

* * *

><p>As the world tipped over in chaos, Sam became extremely ill.<p>

The symptoms began a couple of days after they had killed those drones. She ran a high fever not two days after and no matter what Sheraya did (dousing her in ice cold water, she found, was supposed to work best but after an hour the heat in Sam's body would rise once more) but to no avail. She was throwing up blood, too and she'd fall into long hours of such deep rest that sometimes her mother woke her up to make sure she was alive.

One night, Sheraya had woken up to find her daughter in the garden, her thin night dress shining a pale blue in the moonlight. She watched as Sam stepped on the dirt ground bare footed, walking as if she were entranced by something.

The older woman stepped forward, wrapping her robe around her as she did so. She was tired and especially worried. They were in a middle of a war, one of the luckier families that managed to survive—but it was obvious that there was something wrong with her daughter and whatever it was, there wasn't essentially anything she could do about it.

"Honey, what are you doing out here?" Sheraya asked, but there was no answer.

She could only watch silent and afraid as her daughter slowly turned to her on shaky feet. Delirious.

Sam opened her mouth to answer, but the pain that wracked her body was so intense that she found no matter how hard she tried, nothing would pass her lips. She smiled at her mother weakly—almost serene-like—before passing out on the floor beneath her.

* * *

><p>The following morning, Sheraya rushed her to the medical center that members of the COG had access to. Following E-day every hospital was filled to the brim with dying patients and her daughter would've probably been one of the many who ended up six feet under if it hadn't been for Hoffman. Upon arrival, her body went into an epileptic shock—seized with foam at the mouth. She would've ended up biting her tongue off had Sheraya not put her finger in her mouth at the last minute, her teeth digging so deep into the skin that it nearly cut into her bone.<p>

The doctors might've chastised her for this if she hadn't inadvertently saved her daughter's life.

After it finally passed, they led her out of the room. Told her that her daughter would be fine, that she needed some rest.

Sheraya could do nothing but give her unconscious child one last glance as she was ushered away. Found that she didn't even have the strength to cry.

* * *

><p>There were reports that a couple of other med units around the area got hit, luckily that hadn't been the case with this one. Attacks continued worldwide. The casualties sky rocketed like they couldn't believe. Hundreds turned into thousands, thousands turned into millions all within a short span. And all Sheraya could do was hope that her daughter would be okay as she worked from her desk job, interpreting as she did, this time trying to form alliances to help fight back.<p>

* * *

><p>They preformed multiple tests on her.<p>

Gave her so much meds that sometimes she wouldn't wake up for _days_.

When she was awake, she'd complain of being ice cold when in all actually her skin was burning hot like fire.

They wrapped her in multiple blankets to see if she would sweat it out. Nothing.

Doused her, as she did before, in cold water every other hour to keep her brain from literally cooking.

For the first month nothing worked.

* * *

><p>Eventually, others began to show the same symptoms and many of them died or had massive brain damage as a result.<p>

Doctors kept the handful of corpses—their little test subjects. Sam was lucky.

* * *

><p>Their research eventually became fruitful.<p>

_Warning:_

_High exposures to locust blood may lead to sickness and disease. _

Word spread like wildfire and panic rose to higher peaks.

It didn't matter. Sera was already in quite the state of disarray.

* * *

><p><em>I'm sorry… I—I didn't mean to say that…<em>

* * *

><p>After the night that marked the end of Emergence and the celebration that followed, Sam purposely avoided Damon Baird. It wasn't too hard—they had both been quite preoccupied, him especially no doubt, plus they were two consenting adults that could handle a roll in the sack without shit getting complicated. It had been times like these where she thanked god that he was a sort of a misanthrope.<p>

Not that she felt the need to look over her shoulder every two seconds whenever someone walked into a room. There were no feelings involved, nothing to feel particularly awkward about regarding him screwing her (to be honest she had enjoyed it more than she would've initially expected).

Apart of her simply felt ashamed that he, out of everyone, had been the one to see her so vulnerable.

Standing in front him now at the entrance of the hotel—she had _hoped_ that he had enough decency and kindness in his heart to not bring it up. And if he had, she had a feeling that she probably would've ended up clocking him again.

Her hands unconsciously balled into fists.

She truly hoped that that wasn't going to be the route she was going to have to take.

"You really should watch where you're going," He said, breaking the silence.

He didn't look in the best of shape himself, his eyes rimmed red with sleepiness as he wiped at them with his free hand, the other holding a fresh mug of coffee that she was surprised hadn't spilled all over him during their collision. But then she corrected herself. Baird had a slightly smaller, leaner body build than say Gus and Marcus, but still she had learned first hand that ramming into him was almost as if walking straight first into a steel wall. She noticed his hair was a little shaggier than usual and his trademark goggles did nothing to distract from it.

"My bad." Sam said voice neutral. _Believe me you wanker, you are the last person I want to bump into. _"So, how goes the repairs?"

Baird mumbled under his breath. "Not gonna even talk about that,"

He took the time to eye her instead, going past the sports bra that kept her tits contained, eyes trailing down her bare stomach and down her long legs, his gaze leaving a hot trail wherever they looked.

"I can see you checking me out, you know." She said, cross her arms over her chest.

"Wasn't trying to hide it. _Though_," he paused, taking a sip of his coffee. "I highly doubt that any other hot blooded male you'll bump into on your way to wherever the hell you feel like going won't be eye fucking you. What you're wearing practically shows how much you're begging for it."

Sam frowned, rolling her eyes.

"Well, that's certainly a good thing. I can't do any worse than you. Might as well step my game up."

She got him there and she could tell from the brief flash in his eyes.

But she had had more than enough spats to know what he was probably going to say next would be especially nasty and she prepared herself mentally.

_All is fair in love and war and all the bloody bull, eh?_

"I hear you already have a bit of a head start where that is concerned." The blonde finally retorted without blinking an eye. "What it is Sam? Since the end of the war you don't know what else to do but twiddle your thumbs and open your legs so you can feel a little special for once? People do talk you know, _especially_ soldiers."

Sam gave him the middle finger, making a move to walk past him when his voice stopped her once again.

"What's the matter? Cut too close to home?"

She swung around without trouble, marching over to him on heavy feet. "Listen, you pig-headed wanker," she said, finger prodding into his chest. "who _I_ screw has _nothing_ to do with you. You think I didn't wake up the next morning regretting what happened between us? You make me so fucking sick that it took me more than a couple a' pints of moonshine to even _think _about giving you the privilege of fucking me."

Baird laughed, not in the least bit fazed it seemed. But she knew how he retracted almost better than anyone else.

"It's not a privilege when the shop is open for whoever chooses to give you the time of day, Sam."

Her blood boiled. "Go fuck yourself, Baird."

"Don't mind if I do." He called after her.

This time she hadn't bothered to entertain him.

* * *

><p>In-between the bouts of too long rests from the medication and the growing ache in her body, she was glad to see her mother by her side. Sometimes, she hoped that she wouldn't wake up. A strong part of her wanted to give up on life. She didn't know if her mother saw this, but sometimes Sheraya wouldn't let her fall asleep. Opting to keep her up with conversation.<p>

"Don't forget to wake up tomorrow, sweatheart," She'd say with a smile on her face to make it seem a little easy.

"You always say that to me, mom."

Right before she left.

Like a routine.

"Of course I do," She said, looking down on her fondly. "Would _you_ want to wake up knowing that I wasn't around anymore?"

* * *

><p>That night she sauntered over to the bar as she usually did. Ordered herself some fancy hard liquor. At least the scientist had loaded up on some good alcohol. She made eyes with one of the men sitting on the far end of one of the round tables.<p>

His skin was a dusty cinnamon, hair a deep inky black just like _his_. There were obvious differences, but that was expected. Still, he was close enough. She had found her mark for the night.

She smirked at him, dimples making an encore.

_The devil's grin_, her mother used to call it.

He stood up from his group of friends and walked over.

Ahh, it worked every time.

* * *

><p>She knew it was wrong but in the end a part of her could understand where Dom was coming from.<p>

Even as much as she hated to admit it.

Oh, the irony of it all.

* * *

><p><strong>Note:<strong>

So, I just spent too many hours on my day off writing this chapter. Not that I regret it. I actually couldn't stop myself if I tried—this came to me so easily that I felt it would be a crime if I didn't work on it. So, here it is. I hope you enjoyed.

As for my lovely reviewers, thank you once more for the incredible input. This is your prize. Hope you're happy to get two updates back to back.


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